


I got nothing but love for you

by sunshinessymphony



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Harry Styles Being an Idiot, M/M, author!Harry, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinessymphony/pseuds/sunshinessymphony
Summary: Harry has bought a mansion - or like Niall likes to call it - a "palace" close to a small town in Northern England. He absolutely hates the area, the weather is just awful and he doesn't think much of the people living there. Meeting Louis and his best friend Niall does not change that in any way - quite the opposite actually: Louis lives in a small house together with his crazy wife and doesn't seem to know how to pronounce the word fashion - at least that's what Harry thinks what he looks like. Even worse though is Louis best friend Niall. He doesn't seem to know what manners are and can't keep his mouth shut. What makes the latter even more intolerable is the fact that his favourite subjects to talk about are football, Ireland and his hair colour.When Louis and Harry meet, two worlds collide: The one of a smart small town boy who enjoys romantic novels and the one of a narcissistic artist who has yet to learn why people really enjoy Jane Austen's novels.„You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Mr. Darcy once said. And maybe, just maybe Harry will realise what made Darcy say those words.





	I got nothing but love for you

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> \- This is a work of fiction written by me. Please don't publish anywhere else without my permission.  
> \- The characters and their opinions do not represent me or the people they were inspired by in any way.
> 
>  
> 
> Description:  
> Harry has bought a mansion - or like Niall likes to call it - a "palace" close to a small town in Northern England. He absolutely hates the area, the weather is just awful and he doesn't think much of the people living there. Meeting Louis and his best friend Niall does not change that in any way - quite the opposite actually: Louis lives in a small house together with his crazy wife and doesn't seem to know how to pronounce the word fashion - at least that's what Harry thinks what he looks like. Even worse though is Louis best friend Niall. He doesn't seem to know what manners are and can't keep his mouth shut. What makes the latter even more intolerable is the fact that his favourite subjects to talk about are football, Ireland and his hair colour. 
> 
> Harry, on the other hand, is, like Niall once described it, "Batman-level-rich". He runs a business together with Zayn, who stayed back in L.A. and occasionally tries to talk some sense into Harry on the phone. Apparently, Harry is a writer but no one actually understands how he got that rich by just writing books.
> 
> When Louis and Harry meet, two worlds collide: The one of a smart small town boy who enjoys romantic novels and the one of a narcissistic artist who has yet to learn why people really enjoy Jane Austen's novels.
> 
> „You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Mr. Darcy once said. And maybe, just maybe Harry will realise what made Darcy say those words.
> 
>  
> 
> Personal note:
> 
> Hiya!
> 
> I don't know if anyone is going to read this but I might as well try.  
> There is nothing much to say really - just wanted to let you know that English isn't my native language, so I'm sorry for any errors.
> 
> If you want to find me elsewhere:  
> Instagram: @babenoway  
> Twitter: anni_frieda  
> tumblr: anni-frieda

Harry looked down, then up again.  
He just stood there in the middle of an enormous garden that he calls his own and doesn‘t know if he‘s more bored by the plain grass under his YSL boots or the ever so blue sky above his infamous curly haired head.  
He had been right.  
There was nothing more boring than the English countryside and yet he had bought this ridiculously giant mansion surrounded by a garden that was - measured by its size - rather a park than a backyard. He felt like some sort of old British lord. Maybe he would like it once he got older. He doubted it. He also doubted that he would keep the property for so long.  
It was just – he had so much money. It had become so much that he didn‘t know what to do with it anymore. Yes, of course, he had an exquisite fashion taste and some of the pieces he owned cost probably more than his walk-in wardrobe itself but at some point, even shopping GUCCI and YSL gets boring.  
And yes, he had travelled but in all honesty, he wasn‘t much of a traveller.  
And yes, of course, he had given some money to charity. A lot actually. He couldn‘t remember the exact organisations though. Not that he cared.  
So he had asked Zayn what he did with his share and he said he invested it in property. Harry thought that was actually quite a good idea. Seemed safe. The only „problem“ with that was that it would make him even richer than before so it didn‘t really resolve his dilemma.  
Anyways-  
Harry walked around the garden and started thinking about getting a gardener. Maybe a small waterfall would look nice somewhere close to the big old oaks. Actually, a fountain right in the centre of the garden would look much more impressive. Maybe rather a fountain then. It was not like he would actually want to spend time in this garden and walk around thinking about how the sun was glistening and flowers were blooming in every corner. He wasn‘t Goethe after all.  
Well, once or twice he had pretended to be but he had never been a big fan. Too much tra-la-la about how his lover resembled some flower and always so damn overdramatic. Same for Shakespeare. He understood that death added drama to a play but why did they always die for a lover?  
He couldn‘t imagine killing himself. And definitely not for someone else. How fucking pathetic must one be to kill themselves for someone who will cheat sooner or later anyways?  
Well, okay, Juliet had been young and stupid, just like Werther but seriously? They had their whole life in front of them? And made it depend on one single person? Not the most intelligent decision in Harry‘s opinion. But since when acted lovers rational?  
Harry himself didn‘t believe in love. Sure, he thought that you could be happy with someone for a while but he didn‘t believe in the "one true love and forever thing". He liked to be rational and make reasonable decisions and he had always seen huge success and loads of money as his life goals. And you surely couldn‘t reach these by holding someone else‘s hand.

Harry decided to end his tour through the garden and stepped up the white marvel stairs leading into his house. The mansion was beautiful, he must admit. It somehow reminded him of Tom Buchanan‘s manor in 'The Great Gatsby'. A "palace" is it what Fitzgerald‘s calls it. His own mansion could be called a palace too, Harry supposed.  
It has the same French windows with light curtains like Fitzgerald describes them in Tom‘s home, the same high, white ceiling and deep red rugs running through the floors. Harry had thought about putting a white sofa in the centre of his living room, the infamous place where Daisy lays when Tom sees her for the first time again after years. But since Harry didn‘t have a Daisy to lay gracefully on the cushions, the piece of furniture wouldn‘t be half as charming and imposing as in 'Gatsby'. It would just be a big white sofa, randomly standing in the centre of the room. Nobody would get the reference.  
When he moved up the stairs, Harry let his hands glide over the polished bannister. It felt nice. Too bad he wasn‘t staying for too long.

The morning after, Harry walked down a long black road that lead from his property to the little village close by. Once again he must realise that he indeed bought a house in the middle of nowhere. Lots and lots of plain green grass, a few cute old English houses here and there and well, his mansion, laying a few steps behind him. He wonders who had the idea to build such a house here.  
Here.  
Maybe the royal family had wanted some place far up from the busy streets of London but as soon as they had been here, they had noticed that it was the most boring place to be in the world and had put the house on the market.  
Yes, that seemed plausible to Harry.  
He was now the owner of an abandoned royal family mansion. He nodded his head contently before he proceeded walking down the street. His hand were in the pockets of his brand new GUCCI coat. It had a wonderful shade of navy blue and ended just above his genuflections. Underneath, he had chosen a quite simple outfit today – he didn‘t want to stand out too much to the villagers. He had gone for some black skinny jeans, something he really enjoyed wearing even though they weren‘t too fancy, paired with a white Burberry wool sweater. When he had worn it on Christmas Eve, his mum had insisted that she could have knitted that herself just as well and the three thousand pounds Harry had spent on it were a waste of money. It was just – Harry didn‘t care about wasting money. He had too much. Of course, he would never have said that to his mum. She would have killed him. She absolutely hated arrogance.  
Harry didn‘t necessarily think of himself as an arrogant person; he just had this vibe rich people seemed so send away and made other people believe he was full of himself. Which he was not. Not one second he had thought of himself as a godlike figure. In his world, God didnt‘ exist. There were just the people that made something out of their lives – like he and Zayn for example – and those who rotted their entire life until death finally released them, constantly trying to make themselves believe that they were „content“. Which they were clearly not. How could you if you had to get up every morning at six o‘clock, go for a walk with the old, drooling family dog, just to pick up his shit and to drag him back to the cramped house that these people called their home, with potted plants in the front to make it appear more pleasant. All that these people did was working to buy beer or a cheap holiday in Spain or whatever so they could then pretend they reached everything in life. These days, you were seen as a successful person when you had a house in the suburbs, managed to do yoga three times a week and only got divorced after 20 years of marriage and not after 5 years like average folks. That was what they seemed to call successful. What a joke.  
He continued strolling down the road that now seemed endless. Why did he even decide to walk in the first place? He was getting stupid ideas. That must be the oh-so-fresh-air of the countryside. Harry didn‘t understand what people seemed to love about it. In his opinion, it just stunk like-  
„ARE YOU SERIOUS? AGAIN?“ someone screamed suddenly and made Harry freeze in his spot. Was this aimed at him? He looked around but couldn‘t see anyone.  
„That is your fault!“ a female voice cried now. „I wasn‘t the one who insisted on getting a TV!“  
„But how can one be so fooking stupid and burn the fooking cable?“ the other voice screamed back.  
This voice belonged to a man. Harry could now locate where the voices were coming from. There was a small house on the other side of the street a few meters ahead of him. God, how loud could these people scream? They seemed to practice it a lot.  
„I didn‘t put the cable there!“ the female voice yelled back and just a few seconds later Harry could finally see who the voice belonged to.  
A woman, by her looks in her mid-twenties, stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind her. She had her blonde hair up in some sort of fancy looking updo, big earrings dangling on each side of her elegant neck and wore a slim dress, far cut out. Paired to this, she had some old, ragged house slippers on her feet which made her whole appearance look somewhat ridiculous.  
Harry still stood frozen in his spot, as she continued to scream at the man, now standing on the porch facing a huge window: „You should bloody thank me! If it wasn‘t for me, the whole house would be burning!“  
The window she was shouting at was now violently opened and a man appeared looking as furious as the woman outside. They were probably wife and husband.  
Once again Harry saw his opinion approved that marriage only went one way: downhill.  
The man looked somewhat normal in comparison to his wife - or whatever their relationship was.  
His brown hair was up in a quiff and he looked like he was a tad older than Harry. Maybe it was just exhaustion that made him look older – with a woman like that Harry wouldn‘t be surprised. He was sporting something that looked like a sweater from one of these revival sports brands. Nothing Harry would ever wear.  
„The cable wouldn‘t fooking burn if it weren‘t for you!“ the man exclaimed and Harry was remembered by the man‘s thick Yorkshire accent that he was indeed in northern England. What a ridiculously stupid choice to buy a house in northern England. Where it was always raining and cold. Unbelievably stupid.  
Harry must admit that the scene before him was quite entertaining though. Neither of the shouting people had acknowledged Harry‘s presence so he shamelessly continued to watch the scene not far from him. No theatre could top what was happening right here. He would have paid to see this. Not that he ever thought about whether to or not to pay for something.  
„I told you it wasn‘t my fault!“ the woman wailed.  
„Of bloody course it was! Do you think the TV just starts fooking burning? How bloody stupid do you think I am?“  
„You can‘t call me stupid!“ the woman cried out in response to that.  
„That‘s not what I fooking said! Do you even listen?“  
The man was now raging.  
„You think I‘m stupid!“ the woman howled now even louder and sank dramatically down to her knees.  
„I think you‘re bloody nuts!“ the brown haired man screamed before he slammed the window shut, stormed in the garden and dragged his wife back in.  
It went silent after that.  
Harry shook his head in amusement. Maybe it was worth staying he for a while, he thought before walking down the street, whistling some random melody.

The village was as boring, as Harry had expected it to be. Some houses, some lampposts and a shaggy pub. Nothing worth commenting. So he went back to the house and called Zayn to ask him if he should either buy a fountain or a waterfall for his garden. Zayn liked the idea of a waterfall. Of course. He had always been this absurdly kind of modest. Just a waterfall – hmpf as if. He would simply get both.

Early, the next day, Harry was standing in his silky robe on the balcony of his master bedroom and looked down his garden. It was just as boring as yesterday. Just grass and trees and whatever-  
Zayn had once laughed about Harry‘s love for robes and silk but Harry had always had the opinion that special places required a special wardrobe. A gentleman must be able to represent his home by the way he looks.  
Harry had mastered that skill.  
He always looked fine. Always. Joggers didn‘t exist in his world. No matter how much these hipster bloggers tried to make them trendy and high fashion. Had Edgar Allen Poe ever worn joggers? No. Oscar Wilde? No. Friedrich Schiller? No.  
And Harry wouldn‘t either. Great authors didn‘t wear joggers and never would be. It was simply not respectable for a person with a great mind like his.  
Zayn didn‘t share Harry‘s opinion though. He liked to work in joggers. Even wore them as a fashion trend. Harry couldn‘t understand that. How could someone who respects himself do such thing? Not understandable.  
He decided to call someone for the fountain and waterfall right away so he didn‘t need to look at this ugly piece of a garden any longer. He looked a company up on the Internet and after they heard how much Harry was willing to pay they promised to come tomorrow morning and start planning everything. Just how Harry liked it. Diligent people who actually wanted to work for the money they got.

„Good morning, Mr Styles,“ greeted the man in front of the entrance Harry a bit too cheerful the next morning.  
„What an absolute honour to be here,“ the man continued babbling his nonsense to please his client.  
Harry eyed him from head to toe.  
His hair was slicked back in an awful manner and his body was covered in something that looked like an Armani suit. In his left hand, he held some file folders. This man was guaranteed one of these successful yoga people and already ruining his marriage with some of his secretaries.  
Whatever the man had said, Harry hadn‘t listened to him and just greeted him briefly before inviting him inside with a small hand gesture.  
Harry himself, was wearing a Burberry shirt showing off the unmistakable pattern of the label, paired with a pair of slick dress pants. This man in front of him should be aware of who he was talking to every single second he looked at him. One Armani suit doesn‘t make you rich. Harry had a whole wardrobe of designer suits.  
„Mr Styles, if you don‘t mind, I‘ve already had a few ideas you may look at? Of course, it is all up to you. Just state whatever you want and I will personally-“  
God, this man was talking more than girls in the mall.  
„Alright.“ The man immediately stopped talking as soon as Harry had risen his voice. „I don‘t want to deal with this. That is not my job.“  
He gave the man a well-deserved fake smile to make clear who was working for who here and who was in the higher position.  
„I just want a presentable fountain in the centre of my garden so I don‘t have to look at this...“ he made a vague hand gesture, „...grass. Just make it big and imposing. And look that it matches the house. I would also quite like to be able to swim in it. But don‘t make it look like a pool. I hate the look of pools. Oh, and I‘d also like some of these Greek statues if that isn‘t a problem.“ Another fake smile. „And the waterfall,“ Harry continued, „I don‘t really care. Put it close to the Oaks. And I want it to look natural, everything clear?“  
„Very well“ the man replied, scribbling things down, the first pearls of sweat already appearing on his forehead.  
„Everything you wish for. We will right get to work to work if that pleases you,“ he offered in an obsequious tone.  
„Yes. Thank you,“ was all Harry said before he turned on his heels and walked off, leaving the man measuring the garden or whatever he needed to do.

Harry had given the man‘s company permission to enter his garden whenever they liked. He wanted this to be over as soon as possible and he didn‘t want to be bothered with opening gates or greeting some sweaty workers. He hoped the people he hired were as competently as they had promised and this whole thing would be over in a few days. How long could it take to dig a whole, put water in it and put some decorations up? Four days the most.  
When he went out on his balcony the next morning though, he immediately froze in his spot. What in the good lord‘s name was this? His garden did no longer resemble a pasture - which wasn‘t bad after all – but what Harry saw instead wasn‘t a more pleasant sight. Not at all.  
There were two actual excavators in his garden which had by the looks of it just started digging holes in the garden and a dozen of workers were walking around them looking rather busy. The man from yesterday was standing on a small pedestal a bit offside and was yelling directions at the people around him and making hectic hand gestures.  
What the actual hell was this supposed to be? He wanted a simple fountain and a waterfall, not a new house.  
He turned around and walked down the stairs, still in his silky robe. This man better had an explanation what all this was supposed to be for.  
Harry walked straight to the Armani-suit-man from yesterday giving him a huge, obviously fake smile:  
„Good morning,“ he said in a bittersweet tone.  
The Armani man turned around abruptly when he heard Harry‘s voice behind him. His eyes widened in shock for a split second before he showed his white-teethed smile and greeted his customer overjoyed:  
„Mr Styles! What a pleasure!“  
„Would you mind explaining what this is all for?“ Harry asked in a somewhat angered voice underlining his question with a wild hand gesture.  
„We already started working, just as you wished, Mr Styles!“  
„Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great.“ Harry waved the man off. „But why do you need all this stuff? These excavators are going to ruin my lawn.“  
Not that he actually cared about his lawn but his garden wasn‘t some sort of construction site.  
„There is a lot of work to do, Mr Styles. And we are just trying to work as fast as and efficient as possible.“  
„At least one good thing.“ Harry sighed overdramatically. „So I suppose you will be finished by Wednesday.“  
„Wednesday this week?“ Armani man looked like his eyes were going to fall out off his head.  
„That is what I said.“  
„Oh, Mr Styles!“ Armani man let out a small laugh until he remembered who was standing in front of him and his expression turned back to serious.  
„I am afraid not, Mr Styles.“  
Harry was getting more and more annoyed by this man every second. He knew what his name was. No need to add it to the end of every damn sentence.  
„I suppose we will need at least 10 days. There is no mains water supply where the fountain will be built so we need to lay some pipes first-“  
„TEN DAYS?“ Harry interrupted the man rudely.  
„I‘m afraid so, Mr Styles. But we are trying our best to satisfy all of your wishes.“ Armani man even bowed a little to underline his serenity.  
„Then you better hurry the fuck up,“ Harry spit and stormed off.  
People couldn‘t even dig a simple hole these days without taking ages.

The first day Harry stayed relatively calm and tried to busy himself with reading and sorting out some of his work stuff but the second day it already became too much. He could feel that he was getting a headache from all the noise outside his garden. These people could neither work fastly nor quietly. Absolutely useless.  
He was close to leaving his house and going back to London or the US but there currently weren‘t going any flights and the pilot of his private jet wasn‘t available. And he surely wasn‘t going by car or train. Sitting in these uncomfortable seats for so long always made his back hurt.  
So he just decided to put on his YSL boots and head to the village or walk around in the closest forest.

He was walking down the same road he had taken a few days ago, kicking some pebbles out of boredom.  
Suddenly, he heard someone screeching but relaxed as soon as he realised where he was. He had reached the house with the crazy couple.  
He must admit he was slightly disappointed when he saw that the blonde woman wasn‘t kneeling in front of the garden and crying dramatically.  
Instead, there were two grown up man playing football in the front yard as if they were ten years old. They were screaming and screeching while chasing the ball, already completely covered in dirt.  
Harry shook his head and proceeded to walk by when the man he hadn‘t seen before shouted across the street:  
„Oi mate! Hold on! You got any time?“  
His accent seemed unfamiliar and his hair looked like it had been bleached. Harry must have found a child in a man‘s body. Slowly he turned around until he faced both of the in mud covered boys.  
„Why?“ Harry just asked.  
„Have never seen ya here before,“ the blond one says and ignores Harry‘s question completely. Instead, he jogs over, followed by the brown haired guy who was shouting at his wife a few days before.  
„Yes. I am new. Don‘t intend to stay here for long though,“ Harry stated and raised his eyebrows when the blond one stopped in front of him and offered him his hand for a handshake which Harry completely ignored. He was not going to touch the dirty hands of a stranger. No thank you.  
The blond one examines Harry before his eyes widen:  
„Oi! ain‘t you the guy how bought the palace down here?“  
„I suppose that is me,“ Harry answers in a matter of fact tone.  
„No shit!“ Blondie exclaimed and bumped excitedly into the other man. „Loueh we met the rich guy!“  
So the man with the brown hair and crazy woman seems to be called Louis. Pronounced like it was French though. What kind of wannabe snob-  
„My name is Niall!“ Blondie continued to babble, still excited. „And that,“ he points at French Louis „is Louis my best mate.“ Niall finished the sentence and wrapped an arm around his friend‘s shoulders.  
He grinned right at Harry, his cheeks gleaming, while French Louis just nodded and smiled a little.  
„And who are you? Somehow related to the royals? Ay man, I just gotta say I love Harry. You need to introduce me to him. Gotta play some golf with this dude.“  
What the hell was this man talking about? Harry didn‘t know bleach was actually that damaging for your brain.  
„Harry. My name is Harry.“  
„Oh no really? Shit! I didn‘t recognise you my highness!“ Niall gasped and bowed down.  
Was this dude actually okay up there?  
„Niall..,“ Louis just said but was completely ignored by his friend.  
„Did ya get some plastic surgery? Man-“ Niall started mustering his face.  
„Niall...“ Louis again.  
Harry smiled pitifully. This man must have some serious brain damage.  
„No. I‘m not Prince Harry. My name is Styles. Harry Styles.“  
„Ooooh.“ Niall seemed genuinely disappointed but Harry could swear he heard Louis gasping.  
„You famous or some shit? Or why do ya have a castle?“  
This Niall seemed to have zero boundaries.  
„Actually it‘s just a mansion-“ Harry corrected the poor brain-damaged guy but was interrupted by Louis.  
„He‘s an author.“  
„Oh, that explains why I don‘t know ya mate.“ Niall pats Harry on the shoulder. „Not really a big reader.“  
Harry couldn‘t say he was surprised by that. He even questioned if this guy ever went to school. He was probably still going.  
„You any good at football?“ Niall asked now unbaffled. „We really need a goalie.“  
What the fucking hell. Two minutes ago this man thought he was a part of the royal family and now he was inviting him to play football in the mud with them.  
Harry looked down his clothes. His boots were already three months old – they could probably get dirty. But he was wearing his favourite Prada turtleneck…  
„Oi cmon man, you can wash ya clothes,“ Niall said after following Harry‘s gaze and started to bounce up and down. „Have some fun.“  
Well, fun was something Harry could really need right now. But fun seemed to be extremely rare on the countryside.  
To be honest he didn‘t have many options here.

1\. Go back home and get a headache.  
2\. Go for a walk in the bloody forest and going home with a dozen of mosquito bites.  
3\. Go to the village and drink something at the pub, probably next to some stinking alcoholics.  
Or 4. Play with these two football. In the mud.

Honestly, it was either pest or cholera.  
But his Prada turtleneck…  
Then Harry realised that he was wearing a Tommy Hilfiger shirt underneath. That could get dirty. Wasn‘t even 200 pounds worth.  
„Alright,“ Harry sighed and Niall immediately started cheering. Louis, on the other hand, seemed surprised but didn‘t say anything.  
Obviously, Louis and Niall didn't have a proper goal. So Harry just stood between two boxes filled with empty beer bottles and tried not to think about the dirt on the ball he was supposed to catch.  
He was a bit taken by surprise when he noticed at some point that he actually was having fun and was able to stop thinking about the dirt on his clothes. Eventually, he even joined Louis and Niall on the „field“. They were both really competitive but Louis was just better in Harry‘s opinion. Maybe because he actually focused on the ball instead of talking.  
When the sun started to sink, Niall plopped down in the grass and announced that he needed a beer. Louis laughed and Harry noticed how his eyes got really crinkly when he did. He would probably get crow feets really soon.  
„You want a beer, Harry?“ Louis asked, still panting.  
Ew no. Never. Wheat water.  
„Not really.“  
„We also got wine,“ Louis offered.  
Wine sounded way better. He just hoped it wasn‘t some cheap stuff from the supermarket.  
„Alright.“  
He had nothing to lose, right?  
They went inside, Harry carefully holding his Prada sweater.  
„Ni, will you show Harry the living room please?“  
„Of course mum,“ Niall replied and stuck out his tongue. He really was a child in a man‘s body.  
Niall led Harry in Louis‘ living room and of course, it was nothing compared to Harry‘s. It had quite the nice chimney though. Niall plopped down the leather sofa that stood close to a window and patted the seat next to him: „have a seat man.“  
Harry wondered if it was possible for Niall to NOT end every second sentence with "man" or start it with "oi". It probably wasn‘t. He would google brain damage and bleach as soon as he would get home.  
„Here we go!“ Louis came into the room, handing Niall a bottle of beer and Harry a glass of wine. He seemed to have gotten himself only a glass of sparkling water. Weird.  
Either health nerd or recovering alcoholic.  
The wine was quite good he must admit.  
„So watcha bringing here?“ Niall asked and curiously turned towards Harry after having his first gulp of beer.  
„I bought the house.“  
„No man, I know that. I mean here here.“  
Here here. God someone needed to slap some sense in this kid.  
„I suppose you mean Louis‘ house?“  
„Yeah yeah exactly,“ he waved his hand, „well, technically it‘s Jennifer‘s-“  
„Yes, he means my house,“ Louis interrupted.  
„Jennifer?“  
„His crazy ass wife,“ Niall immediately answered.  
„Just… wife,“ Louis corrected his friend without showing real effort of defending his wife.  
„The blonde one?“ Harry asked.  
„Ya know her? Man! The world is small!“ Niall gasped.  
„Knowing would be too much. Saw her a few days ago. She‘s got quite some lungs, doesn‘t she?“  
Louis just looked down and let out a sigh while Niall didn‘t catch what Harry was implying:  
„Well, she hasn‘t got asthma if ya mean that..“  
„No… Niall… just shut it,“ Louis sighed.  
Louis annoyance must have made Niall realising his mistake:  
„Oh..! You mean the screaming? Yeah, that‘s really something she‘s good at. The only thing to be honest. Telling Louis to leave her since years but he won‘t listen to me, mate. Harry, my man, you gotta need to help me separating these two.“  
Louis wasn‘t taken back by Niall's comment at all. He had probably spent so much time with him that he had gotten numb to what came out of Niall‘s mouth. Somehow that made him feel sorry for Louis.  
„Okay…?“ Harry didn‘t really know what to answer.  
„You haven‘t answered my first question though,“ Niall continued the one-sided conversation. „Why are you here? You got a whole palace to live in. Gotta need to invite us some day.“  
„I‘m getting some things done in my garden. The workers are completely useless though. The noises they make are giving me a headache. They are actually making me leave my own home! It‘s truly unbelievable.“  
„I don‘t mind mate,“ Niall patted Harry on the shoulder.  
Harry hadn't known he and Niall were already friends.  
„But,“ Niall continued „please tell me ya getting a golf course done in ya garden. Man, that would be bloody amazing. Just imagine Loueh-“  
„Niall, you know I hate golf.“  
Well, that was the first thing that actually wasn‘t likeable about French Louis. Besides his „crazy ass wife“ Jennifer of course. Maybe Blondie wasn‘t that bad after all.  
„Nonsense Louis, you gotta love it once you‘ve played.“  
„Niall we‘ve played it what feels like a dozen times and I never liked it.“  
„Don‘t listen to him Harry, that‘s just the alcohol talking?“  
„I‘m drinking water.“  
„Sure Jan.“  
Oh lord. How had Harry managed to get involved in this? He couldn‘t believe these two were real and not some ridiculous TV show characters. At least they were entertaining to watch.  
Niall and Harry eventually left late in the evening. But before Harry had turned around to leave, Louis had put his hand on his shoulder but had taken it back fastly as if he had burned himself.  
„Uhm Harry,“ he had said, „just… if you get bothered by the workers in the garden again… just letting you know you can come over anytime.“  
Somehow that had made Harry feeling warm inside despite the cold wind that was blowing outside.

 

To Harry, it was an undeniable fact that the worker's main goal wasn‘t to work properly but to bother him.  
He, who had paid thousands to that company.  
It wasn‘t his fault the CEOs were getting it all but it may as well meant that these people were keeping their jobs. He thought he could have expected a bit of gratitude. But no, nothing changed and Harry kept getting headaches from the noise outside his garden – if that was what you would call since it now rather resembled a messy battle field. He didn‘t understand why these people needed to dig so many holes.  
This day, in particular, was painfully dreadful. He just could not blend out the noise, couldn‘t focus on his work which he obviously had to do if he wanted to keep the business going and he had gotten a terrible headache. When he poured down a glass of ice cold water, he suddenly remembered the day a few days ago when he had met Niall and Louis.  
Before Harry had left, Louis had said that he could come by anytime. And that was exactly what Harry was about to do. Maybe the cushions of Louis‘ sofa were old and the walls of his house could use a new layer of paint but at least it would be more entertaining than the steady hammering from outside. Maybe bleach head would be there or Louis‘ crazy wife. They were both amusing to watch. Or maybe just having a talk with Louis could be nice. Or maybe, even better, he could find a peaceful space at Louis‘ house and work there. He doubted it though.  
Harry spent an unusually long time inside his wardrobe trying to decide what to wear. Not that he didn‘t need a lot of time on an average day but today it took a particularly huge amount of time to pick an outfit. He didn‘t want to overdress but still look like he had some kind of fashion sense. In the end, he settled in for a dotted black and white YSL blouse with a high closed collar, some cropped skinny jeans paired with some dress shoes, also by YSL. That should do.  
Before he left he threw on his Prada jacket, some sunglasses and grabbed a few of his Jack Kerouac books plus his notebook.  
He was once asked why he still wrote on paper instead of the computer. First of all, did Hemingway have a computer? No, so how should he capture Hemingway‘s style of writing while sitting on the computer?  
Harry couldn‘t use that as an argument though since he had made everyone believe that all he wrote were „Harry Styles“ texts. Oh, how wrong they were.  
Second of all, you could not hack paper and in a case of emergency you could simply burn it and obliterate it forever. He couldn‘t use this as a reason either in public because it would have been hard to explain why he would need to destroy all his work.  
So he usually just went with the „it just feels nicer“ kind of thing even though he thought that was ridiculous. Because let‘s face it: working on a computer was way more convenient than in a notebook or on a typewriter.

When he arrived at Louis‘ house it was – quiet.  
That seemed a bit off to Harry. Maybe they had all left. He rang the doorbell anyway and after the second inpatient ring, Louis finally opened the door.  
He looked like he had just gotten out of bed even though it was almost 1 pm. That was past noon.  
His hair was messy but somehow it framed his face perfectly. It seemed like he hadn‘t shaved the past two days - however, the stubble suited him perfectly. Louis outfit was questionable though in Harry‘s opinion: Sweatpants with an Adidas sweater which was obviously too big for him as it covered his entire hands. Nothing Harry would ever wear. For Louis though, it just seemed to be right.  
„‘ello,“ Louis answered the door, squinting his eyes against the sunlight.  
„Hello, Louis,“ Harry answered.  
Louis' head snapped up as soon as the words had left Harry‘s lips.  
„Harry?“  
„Yes. Harry Styles though. Not Prince Harry.“  
Louis burst out in laughter. „I know, unlike Niall, I actually do read.“  
„Oh really? Impressive,“ Harry said slightly sarcastic even though he didn‘t actually mean to sound mean.  
„Uhm… Whatever,“ Louis seemed to not really know how to answer and just raised his eyebrows.  
„So you offered that I could come by any time?“ Harry rather stated than asked. He was getting impatient just standing in front of an opened door.  
„Oh right, yeah, of course.“  
Harry could swear he saw a slight blush on Louis‘ cheeks.  
„Uh – you wanna come in?“  
„Very much.“ Harry grinned while stepping inside the house as if it was his own. „Where are bleach boy and your „crazy ass wife“? A bit too quiet here.“  
„Uhm… My wife, she‘s actually away for a while...Spending some time with her family in Alabama.“  
„Alabama?“  
„Yeah.“  
„Unusual. And bleach boy?“  
„Who?“ Louis looked like there was a question mark printed on his forehead.  
„Niall.“  
„Ooooh!“ Louis burst out into laughter. Again. „Yeah right. How could I not get that? Niall is just fine, has to work today.“  
„Oh okay, that‘s good for him. He seemed a bit – off to me last time.“  
„Off?“  
„Yes. I mean the way he is talking. It‘s ridiculous.“  
Louis started to laugh again. Harry started to question himself if he was representing some kind of comedian here.  
„No that‘s just Niall. Nothing wrong with him. Really. He‘s just like that. All carefree and oblivious like that.“ Louis explained to Harry, now actually laughing tears.  
„Aha,“ was all Harry said. He still wasn‘t convinced that all that bleach hadn‘t damaged that poor kid‘s brain.  
„Eh – I‘m sorry,“ Louis said after he had collected himself, „do you want some tea? I was just about to make some. Or something else?“  
„I was actually wondering if I could work a little...“  
Louis actually did have a small room with a desk for Harry to work in. It somehow reminded him of the days when he used to do his homework up in his small room that barely had enough space to fit all his things.

Harry had been working for two very productive hours when Louis peered in, a teapot in his hands. He looked a bit unsure, probably afraid he was interrupting something important.  
Harry looked up and gave him a timid smile.  
„Everything alright?“ Louis asked still sounding unsure. „I made some tea if you want...“ he trailed off.  
„Sure.“  
Even though Harry never understood the obsession with tea Britons had, he could use a short break and a hot cup of tea.  
Louis entered the room, balancing two mugs and a teapot in his hands and set it all down once he had reached the table. He poured tea into both mugs and stopped halfway through, looking apologising to Harry. „Uh, we ran out of milk but I can get sugar if you want-“  
„No need for that, thank you.“  
He didn‘t need these extra calories if he wanted to stay in shape. This body wasn‘t coming from anywhere. And milk? He never understood why Britons felt the constant need to pour milk in their tea. It was just a weird combination. Like scrambled eggs and ketchup. Ugh. He bet Louis ate that.  
„Is it okay if I sit for a while or are you busy?“  
„It‘s alright. I‘m not in a hurry. Zayn will have to wait.“  
„Zayn?“  
Oh yeah great. He just gave Louis some information he shouldn‘t have given him. Zayn was part of the business. And that meant that any information about him that was given to strangers was a risk. Harry had never slipped up. He needed to be more careful. It was probably because of the headaches.  
„Just my business partner.“  
„Oh.“  
Thankfully, Louis didn‘t ask any further questions. People often did that, asking Harry about which kind of business he had and subtly asking how much money he made with it.  
„Jack Kerouac,“ Louis read the name on one of Harry‘s books.  
„Yes.“  
„Is he good?“  
„People say so.“  
„I‘ve never read anything by him. Always wanted to though.“  
„Then do so and then I won‘t have to tell you if he‘s good or not.“  
„Yeah right,“ Louis chuckled and wrapped his fingers around his steaming tea cup.  
„Do you write something about him? Or are you just getting some inspiration?“  
„I guess both works if you want to.“  
„Oh okay.“  
Louis turned a bit in his chair so he could look outside. The weather was chilly today and the sky looked grey above the wide grasslands that were running up and down over small hills.  
„I‘ve always liked the view from here,“ Louis whispered and seemed like he was drifting away with his mind. „Always reminded me of a Jane Austen novel.“  
Jane Austen? A grown man who apparently loved playing football and ran around looking like some smaller version of an Adidas model stated that he read and apparently liked Jane Austen novels? Well, that was unusual. Fact besides, that most Jane Austen novels took place in southern England.  
„What‘s your favourite work by her?“ Harry asked grinning curiously.  
„Uhm, sorry, what?“ Louis snapped his head.  
„I asked you what your favourite work by Jane Austen is.“  
„Jane Austen…?“ He was blushing. Oh god, he was blushing. This was hilarious.  
„You just said that the view reminded you of a Jane Austen novel.“  
„Oh.“  
He hadn‘t noticed. Louis was one of these people who said their thoughts aloud without noticing. This could be fun.  
„So?“  
„You really want to know? This is embarrassing,“ he blushed even more than before.  
„I wouldn‘t ask if I didn‘t want to know, would I?“  
„Uh right… It‘s – It‘s Pride and Prejudice,“ he said batting his eyelashes, not daring to look at Harry.  
Of course. Of course, it would be Pride and Prejudice. What else had he expected?  
French Louis turned out to be a perfect mixture between a proper „lad“ and an old cat lady. It was amusing, it really was. Maybe he would write a novel one day and call it French Louis. It would be a bestseller.  
„Mine is Northanger Abbey.“  
„What?“ Louis' head snapped up.  
„I said my favourite Jane Austen novel is Northanger Abbey. Was published posthumously.“  
„You read Jane Austen?“  
„Obviously. Read all of the great ones. And Jane Austen is one of them. You need to keep yourself educated for a job like mine.“  
„Oh. Yeah, that makes sense...“ Louis still looked like he couldn‘t quite believe it. „Niall always said I was the only dude that read Jane Austen.“  
„Well, you are clearly not. Even though, I mainly read it for work purpose.“  
„Yeah, right.“  
They both took a sip from their tea that had now reached the perfect temperature.  
„I don‘t understand why people romanticise the countryside so much.“  
„It‘s beautiful,“ Louis seemed to be a bit taken aback.  
„Really? Because all I can see is mud, grass and oh even more grass. What is special about grass and a few trees here and there. It makes you feel isolated from the world.“  
„That‘s what I like about it.“  
God, Louis really was some old lady trapped in a young man‘s body.  
„If you say so. I think you‘re missing out on life.“  
„Maybe,“ Louis smiled, „I don‘t mind though. I‘m quite content.“  
„Uh-uh,“ Harry mumbled and thought back on the scene with his wife. „Quite content.“ Surely.  
„I will take you on a walk before sunrise one day and maybe you will understand it then.“  
Right when the words had left his mouth, the same expression appeared on Louis‘ face as when he had touched Harry‘s shoulder the last time.  
„Only if you want to, of course,“ he added hastily.  
„I will think about it.“  
Louis seemed a bit relieved about Harry‘s answer and they continued to drink their tea in silence.  
Harry worked after that for another few hours and then went back to his mansion, going straight to bed.

The next day Harry was woken by the annoying sound of his ringtone.  
„Yes?“ he answered without looking at the ID of whoever had the nerve to call this early.  
„What the fuck, Harry? Where the hell are you? I need to send me you work.“  
„Zayn – chill out. I told you I‘m investing in real estate.“  
„And?“  
„Well, surprise I bought a house.“  
„So what Harry? You gave a signature and done!“  
„I‘m staying at it.“  
„What the fuck Harry? You don‘t stay at the houses you invest in! What are you doing?“  
„It got some Great Gatsby vibes. I like it.“  
„Oh my god Harry. Stop with your fucking Fitzgerald thing and send me something new.“  
„I‘m working on it.“  
„Who?“  
„Kerouac.“  
„Finally something good. Ginsberg already went well. Maybe we could make something with both of them? Maybe add Burroughs? Like some essays and letters discussing them? Did they do such things? Three great ones – that would go well.“  
„Too much of a risk.“  
„But-“  
„Zayn, we got more than enough money. We should keep it low key.“  
„Not wrong.“  
„I actually thought about writing something with my name on it. You know, another Harry Styles bestseller?“  
„Whatever. Do what you want. I‘ll get back into painting then. Just tell me and send me this Kerouac stuff asap.“  
„Yes, Zayn. Calm down.“  
„So what about the Fitzgerald house?“  
„Looks like Tom Buchanan‘s house in a way. The garden was awful though. Just grass, grass and more grass. I hired some people to build a little something. They are awful though. All they do is making noise. I keep getting headaches.“  
„A little some means in your world?“  
„Just a fountain and a little waterfall. It‘s really nothing but these workers are driving me crazy.“  
„Harry.“  
„Yes, Zayn?“ He didn‘t need a lecture from his so-called friend.  
„Just get your fucking head out of your ass.“  
„Excuse you Zayn? You can‘t imagine how bad it is. I actually had to stay at some other dude‘s house. He wears sweatpants during the day Zayn, sweatpants.“  
„You know I do that too.“  
„Yes, and you know how little I like it.“  
„You know that Versace had sweatpants in their collection.“  
„Not only them,“ Harry mumbled, his voice actually sounding angry. „People need to get their shit together.“  
„So how‘s that guy? Hot?“  
„Zayn.“  
„Just asking. No reason to get pissed.“  
„He has a wife. A crazy one, I might mention. She‘s absolutely nuts. He doesn‘t want a divorce though for whatever reason. Didn‘t really understand the nonsense bleach boy was saying.“  
„Bleach boy?“  
„His even crazier friend. I swear, he got some serious brain damage from that bleach.“  
„I bleached my hair.“  
„Yes, exactly. And look where it took you – wearing sweatpants during the day.“  
„Why don‘t you just leave then?“  
„Need to look after these people in my garden. They will totally mess it up if I‘m not here watching them.“  
„Harry.“  
„What Zayn, what?“  
„You still haven‘t answered my question. Is this Louis guy hot or not?“  
„He likes fricking Jane Austen.“  
„Did you just use the words fricking and Jane Austen in one sentence? Bad, Harry, bad.“  
„Shut the fuck up, Zayn.“  
„You like Jane Austen too Harry, I know that. And that still doesn‘t answer my answer, you know. I‘ll just take that as a yes.“  
Harry just went straight to hitting the red button on his phone screen.  
Idiot.


End file.
